*-The only characters that I own are William Bennet Darcy, Frances Jane Darcy and Charles Bennet Darcy. The rest with respect and love and admiration, belong to Miss Austen.


For the last ten years, Fitzwilliam Darcy could say that he was a happy man.

His marriage to former Miss Elizabeth Bennet had proved, despite certain naysayers within his family, to be a fruitful and satisfying marriage.  His wife was still as vibrant and handsome as the day they married.

Adding to his happiness was their children. Their first born and heir, William Bennet Darcy, a bright and eager boy, was ready to take his place as master of Pemberley, despite being the tender age of seven. His sister, Frances Jane, at the age of five, was already proving to be a mirror image of her mother and the apple of her father’s eye. The youngest of their children was Charles Bennet Darcy, coming out of the womb two years ago with head of blonde curls and a charming smile that one day promised to catch the attention of many a young woman. His parents attributed their youngest child’s light hair to his aunts Jane and Georgiana, who stood in contrast to their darker haired siblings.

Tonight was no different than any other night.  After dinner was cleared away and the children were in bed, Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth retired to the library to spend some time together before going to bed. Though they both had books in their hands, his attention was not on the book, but on his wife.

Elizabeth looked up from her book, knowing that he was not focused on the book.

“Is there anything else, before I turn in?” Mrs. Reynolds stood in the doorway, forcing Fitzwilliam to divert his attention to the housekeeper.

“No thank you, Mrs. Reynolds, I don’t believe we need anything”.

“Sleep well Mrs. Reynolds” Elizabeth returned the book to the shelf.

“Thank you, ma’am, the same to you”.

As soon as the housekeeper’s footsteps disappeared, Elizabeth looked at her husband.

“I shall be retiring for the night, Fitzwilliam, would you care to join me?” she asked.

The book was forgotten as he followed his wife up the stairs. Tonight and for the rest of his days, Fitzwilliam Darcy was a happy man.

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